


Let This One Thing Remain

by poisontaster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series, Sad Dean, five things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-04
Updated: 2006-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-22 18:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4845821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 Things Dean kept over the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let This One Thing Remain

His mom had this big handkerchief that she used to tie her hair back when she was cleaning the house. He's had to use it as a tourniquet more than once and the red's now faded to a kind of translucent pink now, but he still has it. They'd gone back to the house for Dad to look for anything he could salvage and he'd looked at Dean all serious and told him to stay put and watch Sammy. And he _had_ , but a little breeze had kicked up while he was standing there and picked up the handkerchief and tangled it into the branches and he'd only left Sammy for one second while he went and ran and shoved it deep into his pocket. And even though most of the stuff Dad brought away smelled stinky like the fire and chemicals and stuff, Dean would put that handkerchief up to his nose and he could still smell his mommy on it. He used to sleep with it wrapped around his fist until he finally noticed that the last little bit of mommy smell had been finally replaced by sweaty little boy. Never could bring himself to get rid of it, though.

It's squashed and oddly charred and colored, barely recognizable as a bullet at all anymore, but it's his, memento of the first thing he ever killed. He's not even sure why he bothers and he's not careful with it, tossing in his bag at random. But every so often he'll find it in his luggage and sit, turning it over and over in his fingers for a while before he shrugs and puts it back for the next time.

He doesn't know if his father gave much of a shit about it, considering he used to let Sammy teethe on the damn thing and later used it as a keychain for the Impala, but he remembers being young and holding his Dad's Purple Heart in his hand and asking what it was for. His Dad's mouth had twisted up all crooked like it did when Mom announced they were having cabbage or broccoli for dinner that night. He'd said, "For forgetting that there's really nothing more important than the lives of those you care about," and Mom had come and put a hand on Dad's shoulder and told Dean to go wash up for lunch. He'd found it one day a few years later, after Mom and when they were leaving one of their many houses, sitting on the kitchen table. He'd put it in his pocket, intending to give it back to Dad, but with one thing and another, he never had. He never forgot though, what his Dad said.

When Sam was six and still kind of afraid of the dark but more afraid of admitting it to Dad, Dean had pocketed a bright green rabbit's foot keychain from some tourist trap roadside store in one of the Dakotas. He gave it to Sam and told him he'd gotten it from the shaman on the nearby reservation. He told him it would make sure Sam was safe when he slept, safer than the gun under his pillow, safer than a hundred _billion_ guns. He felt bad about going behind Dad's back and telling lies like that, but the wide-eyed grateful look on Sam's face and the way he said "Wow, _thanks_ , Dean!" made it seem worth it. That, and Sammy started sleeping through the night, clutching the silly thing so hard that green fur poked through his fingers. For a long time, Dean thought it was lost in one of their many moves, but some time after Sam left for Stanford, he found it in the pocket of his most raggedy jeans, wrapped up in a torn off piece of paper bag that said simply, _Sweet dreams._

When Dean's Mom Went Away, he didn't cry and he didn't talk. And he knew his Dad was worried, but he just couldn't find his tears or his voice in all that sadness. And he thinks the grown-ups must have thought he'd lost his hearing too, because he'd be sitting _right there_ while they talked to his dad, saying stuff like, _'He's young. He'll forget and things will be better. You'll see.'_ and Dean's Dad would nod his head _yes_. But Dean Made Up His Mind; he wasn't ever going to forget. He'd hold his picture of smiling Mommy in both hands and stare fiercely, memorizing every curve and line so that even when he didn't have the picture in front of him, he could close his eyes and see her face _just so_. And Dean was right and they were wrong, because he never forgot. Not ever ever. He knows, because twenty-two years later, when he sees her again? She looks exactly like he remembers.


End file.
